Genre/Pairing: Sam, Dean, gen, OFC
Wordcount: cca. 4.000
Summary: A witch, a Sam, a poison and a cure. Dean sure has his hands full.
Warnings: Season 3, hurt!Sam, H/C, witches&poisons&potions, blood&gore, old fashioned hurt/comfort story
Disclaimer: I seriously only own the grammar/spelling mistakes. Everything else is NOT MINE! ALL IS FICTION.
A/N: I received an incredible present for my birthday this year. My wonderful friend Mystic25 made me a book - she took this story, made art for it, binded it all and send it to me. When I opened the package, I was just blown away. Just incredible. So I asked her if she was okay with me posting the story with the art she made and she said she's cool with it. YAAAAY :) So all the art in this story was made by Mystic25, and I love it, because apart from being black&white it has this grotesque feel to it that I just adore.
The title comes from a Panic At The Disco song called ''Northern Downpour''. The story was first written in 2009 & posted on fanfiction.net. It was written for a prompt: ''pour something into Sam''. Heh. There's a remix of the story, written by Mad Server over HERE!
"Your skin is like fire," she whispered and ran her cold hand over his neck, feeling him swallow beneath her palm, "I can smell it," she leaned closer and sniffed at the skin of his collar bone, running the tip of her nose along the protruding bone, "I bet it even tastes like fire," her sharp, cat like tongue scraped a stripe of skin along the side of his neck, "yeah," she breathed hot and cold along his jaw, "fire."
Sam's nostrils flared; anger, fear, want, all mixing into something unknown, something new. The only feeling he was sure of, was a need for her to die.
"Oh yeah?!" he breathed out, words traveling through the tight channel of his throat. He pressed his back harder into the wall behind him, his palms sweaty on the cold surface of it. It felt as if he was chained into the position, not being able to move too much, not being able to fight back. Trapped.
"Yeah…" she hissed and licked again, feeling Sam's neck muscles stiffen beneath her tongue, feeling salt and: "yeah fire."
He didn't know what to say to that, didn't have some witty comeback like Dean would've surely had; he just raised his head, exposed his neck and huffed: "Shut up, witch".
Her voice was raw, but she poured some curiosity in it that made her sound almost lovely: "I bet your blood tastes like fire too."
That made him lower his head and look into her eyes…one sky blue, the other one grass green…witch.
God, I hate witches.
She locked his eyes with hers and smiled, a wicked smile curving her red thin lips up to her ears, mirth shining in her eyes.
Sam fought the force that held him pinned to the wall, but the pressure was too strong, too thin to grab purchase of. He scrambled with his legs, his boots heavy, feet barely licking the floor. She was too strong, too powerful.
She pressed closer to him; he could feel her breath, hot and moist on the hollow at his throat.
"I can feel your blood running through your veins." She touched his left hand with her boney finger, making his skin tremble and goose bump.
"I can almost taste the copper in it." She ran her finger from his wrist up his arm, following the veins, stopping at the bend of his elbow. "It's intoxicating just like this," she pressed on the vein there, "so warm and pulsing." She moved her touch up his arm and down. "Your heartbeat." She pressed her hand palm down over his heart. "You scared, Sammy?"
Sam rolled his eyes and filled them with anger. "You don't scare me. And it's Sam."
She laughed, a full on laugh that vibrated through Sam, making him gasp for air, his lungs starving for freshness, but all he got was the unmistakable smell of sweet and sour.
"Oh yeah, Sammy?" she pressed her palm harder to his shirt, right above his heart, "You sure you're not scared of me?"
She slipped her hand over his heaving stomach, stopping by the hem of his T-shirt.
Sam looked at her, looked into eyes that were turning playful now; like those of a child looking at a brand new toy.
"Yeah, 'm sure." He smirked and swallowed down a groan when she lifted his shirt and placed her cold palm skin to skin on his waist. She smiled and slowly slid her hand up his stomach to his chest, stopping right over his heart.
"Beating a little too fast, Sammy."
"'s Sam, bitch."
She smirked, her long, black as coal hair falling into her green eye, but she blew itaway and Sam could actually taste her breath in his mouth.
He breathed, or at least wanted to, but all he could manage were puffs of air, the pressure on his chest and back too strong for a full breath.
"Your breath," she leaned closer to his lips, "smells so," she stopped like she was looking for the right word, "ambrosial."
He stopped breathing all together.
What?! Okay, this was definitely not the plan…where the Hell's Dean?!
Her palm over his heart was icy cold, making him shiver and tremble. Making him feel numb.
"You sure you're not scared of me?" There was mockery in her whisper-like voice.
She moved her hand and dipped her finger in the space between his first and second rib.
"One," she moved lower, counting his ribs and when she got to the end, Sam wanted to jump out of his skin.
The bitch is going to die!
"You angry?" She circled her finger over his skin, "Sammy?"
"Oh you have no idea!"
"Ahahaha, I can feel it, you know!? The anger…it's all sugary on my skin."
Sam breathed out, when her index finger stopped in the dip of his hip.
"Your breath…mmmmm, so tasty." She licked her lips and closed her eyes; it almost looked like she swallowed down his breath.
This is all so wrong.
"What do you want?" Sam hissed out.
"Oh, I want," she ran her index finger all cold and fiery right above the waistband of his jeans; half of the finger on his skin, and the other half on his jeans, "a lot of things." Sam shivered, when her breath hit his collarbone.
Sam wanted to strangle her. Rip her apart. And those thoughts scared him.
"Ticklish, are we?" she whispered and blinked.
"I swear to God…"
Her finger stopped a little lower than his belly button and a little higher than his belt buckle, feeling the soft hair there, she grinned.
She looked up into his eyes, her blue one slightly teary, and whispered angrily: "God? God has no business here."
Where the Hell's Dean?!
She traced the skin above his waistband back to his hip, and stopped.
"Your skin is so soft here. So taut, so muscular, so warm, moving." she said, almost in awe.
"I'm gonna kill you." His voice was thickened with anger.
"Mhm, I don't think so, Sammy."
He could feel her finger dip a little into the skin by his hipbone, and he flinched and gasped. His muscles tensed all over his body, but the witch was still putting pressure on his skin.
"What do you want?" he snapped at her, which earned him a glare and a laugh, but he had to try. Keep her talking, distract her long enough for Dean to come or for his own mind to think up a solution.
"I want," she said through a laugh and breathed into his ear, "you" she pressed her finger a little deeper, breaking skin a little, "dead."
And, she pressed her finger through his skin right up to her second knuckle, making Sam close his eyes and scream. The sudden pressure was too much, too fast, too painful, too... "Aaaaaaaahhh!"
His head fell on her shoulder, his sweaty forehead rolling left and right on her fine blue silk dress.
"Shh, shh, shh, Sammy, quiet now. Don't wanna wake up the neighbors."
Sam didn't know what she did, but suddenly all his screams were silenced and he found himself choking on them. All that was left for him to do was to breathe. At least she didn't take that away from him.
"That's it Sammy, breathe. I want to taste the sweetness. It's," she breathed hot and cold alongside his jaw, "intoxicating."
He gasped for breath, hissed and trembled. He could feel her finger in him, inside of him. It burned, it chilled, it was hot and it was cold, it was like an oven and it was like ice…up was down, left was right, and his side was burning up and freezing off.
Oh god, aaaaaaaaaahhh!, God…
He couldn't stop screaming in his mind, the only place he could. He was twisting from an invisible grip, rolling his forehead on her bony shoulder, trying to suck in some air that was brutally ripped out of his lungs.
Her grip on him was strong, stronger than a demon's.
High-class witch. Damn it, aaaaaaaaghhhhhh, God, damn…!
His eyes got teary in mere seconds, salty water running down his cheeks onto her dress.
He wanted to die, to pass out, just something so he wouldn't have to endure this. But he couldn't; witches and spells.
Hate witches, hate them, aaaaahhhhaaaaaa!, God, Dean….make it stop.
"Your hair smells nice, 's soft." She whispered into his ear, but Sam had a rush of blood and the noise of his heart permanently stuck in his mind and he couldn't hear a thing.
She wiggled the tip of her finger inside him, tickling his flesh and Sam felt like she pushed her whole hand in him, coming out on the other side.
The world tilted off its axis when she pressed even deeper, fire ripping through his flesh and bones right up to his eyes. He couldn't stop the tears that were now a constant river down his cheeks.
He calmed down a little when he couldn't feel anything anymore, when the world of pain and the world of 'non-pain' collided; he should have passed out at this point, but spells…spells suck.
He panted, deep breaths, wheezing sounds, heaving chest; it was all that he could do.
He heard her whisper through the sound of nothing: "I can feel fire in you, Sammy," she wiggled her finger again, scraping muscle, or flesh or maybe some important organ there, "told ya I would."
"Screw," a wheeze, "you," a breath, "bitch." It came out a little bit raspy, a little bit incoherent, but he thought that the point came across.
"Such a bad mouth, Sammy, but oh," a lick over his ear lobe, "so sweet."
He could feel her saliva burning his ear, and her finger was almost acid in his side and then something deep and booming came splashing into his ear, like someone opened a dam. "Hey, bitchy witchy. Leave him alone."
Dean…aaaaaaargggggggghhhhh! Make her stop!
She spun her head around so fast; Dean was lost for a second, but only a second.
"Looking for this, hmm? Well you can't have it, bitch."
She could see him holding something in his hand, but with Sam's blood still running down her finger it was a little hard to concentrate on anything else, but the fire that was running down her boney finger.
"Mhm," she smiled and turned around to whisper into Sam's ear: "Your brother is a dead man."
Sam tried to understand what she said but all that came to his foggy brain was 'brother'. He groaned and tried to raise his head to look at Dean, to look at something other than darkness and flashes of blue.
He felt her starting to remove her finger, the fire of it dragging along the walls of the tunnel she'd made, scraping some flesh, skin, and muscle along the way. He screamed a silent scream and felt something in his neck snap.
"Love it when you try to scream out loud…I can just imagine the fire in your voice."
With those words she turned around completely and looked into Dean's eyes. She brought her finger; bloody with drops of meatstill on it, to her mouth and licked it clean.
Dean gagged. "You are one sick bitch."
"He tastes so good…fire and sugar." There were still some pieces of Sam's blood and flesh on her teeth when she laughed, insanity shining in her eyes.
She stepped away from Sam completely, making him lose support of her shoulder. His head fell down in a rush, limp and heavy. His heaving chest stopped his chin and he breathed out at the tension in his neck.
"Give it to me and I'll let your little brother here leave. I'll even heal him."
Dean smirked. "Too late." He light up his Zippo and let the flame lick the object in his hand.
The witch shrieked and cried out; and the blue silky dress turned into orange and red, her black hair turned into brown, and her bloody finger turned into smoke and she burned up, before Dean could even count to one.
As Sam slumped to the floor with a thud, Dean let the object fall and quickly closed the gap between them.
"Sam, Sam, hey man."
Sam felt Dean kneel beside him, felt the harsh skin of Dean's thumb graze his cheek and barely registered the whispered: "Damn."
"Sam, can you hear me?" Dean's deep voice was little more then a whisper.
"Dean, God…" Sam wheezed out between puffs of air. He tried to roll onto his stomach, to hide from the coldhot pain coming from his side, but Dean's strong hands stopped him: "Sam, hey, lay on your back."
Sam didn't want to obey. He clasped his left hand over the wound, feeling the warm blood seeping through his fingers like fine sand. He tried to roll onto his stomach again: "No…way…" he wheezed out through clenched teeth, but Dean wasn't having that.
"Oh, so way, brother."
He gripped Sam tight by his shoulders and maneuvered him to lie on his back. Sam's eyes were shut tight, tears leaking from their corners; his hair drenched in sweat, and his arms…his left hand was still placed over the wound, and his right one got lost in Dean's forearm, gripping tight.
There was blood seeping through his fingers, running down his knuckles, being soaked up by his jeans.
"Sam, let me see." he felt Dean take hold of his wrist, Dean's fingers slipping in the blood before tightening and tugging his hand away.
"Let me take a look, come on." Sam felt his brother lifting his T-shirt, already wet with blood and then gentle knuckles grazed over his shaking, trembling, warm skin.
Sam could imagine the wound; a black hole, the width of a finger, bubbling with blood, alive.
"Try to calm down, man." He heard Dean murmur, even as his abdomen heaved with each breath.
"Easy for you to say. God, Dean did she nick any organ?!" Sam finally grunted out.
"I don't know…left side, near the hip, I don't know, Sammy. I skipped biology, remember!?"
"Yeah, yeah...probably not," Sam groaned. "She had poison to do the dirty work."
Dean's eyes went back at the gaping hole by Sam's hip: "Okay, Sam…okay. Ummm, you know what we need to do." He looked back up at Sam, locking their gazes.
Sam knew his eyes were bright with knowledge of what was to come and he sought strength from his brother. And Dean gave him that with a winkand a sparkle of power that illuminated the greenness of his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah…yeah okay. Do it." He gritted out through clenched teeth, almost biting through his tongue, feeling blood and her sweet and sour breath.
"Thank God for Bobby, huh?!" Dean tried to joke.
Sam huffed and let his head fall back on the concrete floor. He moaned when he felt Dean put pressure on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. The wound wasn't bleeding that bad, but the hotcold feeling made Sam feel like he was bleeding with no end in sight.
"Just keep on lying on your back," Dean's blood soaked hand disappeared into his jean's pocket, "don't move," he pulled out a vial "and it'll be over," he looked at the wound, seeping blood and something else he didn't want to think about, "in a sec. You good?"
"No." Sam hissed out.
"Okay, I need to…make room...here."
"Just do it. The poison'll take effect any sec now. Do it!"
Dean opened the vial with one hand, while the other went on a journey to Sam's hip. Sam felt him wipe off some of the blood with the end of his shirt and the cool fingers pried open the wound. Sam could feel the edges of the wound being hot, but inside, it was freezing cold. He saw Dean look up at him, but he was already trying to calm himself, trying to go somewhere else as Dean tipped the vial and a black, oily liquid ran like honey into the wound.
"Dean!" the scream echoed through the room, the walls unable to buffer it…it stretched down the hallway, bouncing off of walls, chipping paint off of them in the process…it was like a tidal wave, fast, loud and ruining everything that got in its way.
"Shh, shh, shh…not so loud, kiddo." Sam's scream was muffled by his brother's hand that clamped over his mouth, silencing the scream of Dean's name.
The wound was starting to get hot, even hotter then it was the first time Dean put his hand over it; it was like it was burning. Sam winced when Dean put a little more pressure on it, trying to keep the black oily thing inside somehow, but Sam could feel it running out of the wound…like lava.
"Damn it Sammy, what the…?"
Sam kept his eyes closed, tears leaking out of them in a steady flow, his nose opening and constricting when pulling in a breath and releasing it. He knew that Dean could feel his tears running down his hand, could feel his breath on the side of his palm, could feel his saliva on his palm, but didn't care…the hotcold feeling was too much.
"Sam, Sam, hey, hey, 's gonna be over soon." Dean whispered.
Bobby had said that the cure for the witch's wounds was this liquid and that it needed to burn and all, but this…this was burning a little too much. It was like someone had poured acid into him, not some moth wings mixed with ashes of a hundred year old scarf.
Which is a weird potion all together, but who the Hell cares.
Sam's breath was fading, his body going limp: "Sam?!" Dean asked.
He couldn't breathe, he was drowning in vacuum.
Dean's voice was fading in and out of his mind, but he could feel Dean release his mouth and scoot closer, could feel Dean's short hair on his lips, when his brother leaned down…could still feel Dean's hand putting pressure on the wound.
"Sam, breathe man!" Sam could hear his name being screamed…even though his head was starting to be covered in cotton.
Dean was panicking, Sam could tell, he could always tell, when his brother was in panic, even when darkness was invading his every pore...he could always tell.
He couldn't breathe, couldn't…feel…couldn't tell anything anymore…the hotcold pain was turning black…
"Sam! Man, damn it."
And that's when it happened…that's when the pressure on his wound eased up, the hand was gone, and air came back into his lungs.
Sam struggled for breath, tears still coming fast and steady out of his eyes, his mouth opened to full capacity just to draw in enough air to feed his starving lungs.
He tried to raise himself into a sitting position, but Dean grabbed his shoulders and pushed him down again: "Sam, no, hey, lie still, come on."
But Sam felt too out of it, catching his breath like he was drowning, moving his legs up and down, left and right, his arms flailing all over the place leaving Dean no choice.
Sam felt Dean straddle his legs, bend over him, and placing his hands on his shoulders, putting all of his weight on him, trying to keep him lying down without causing harm.
"Sam, shhhhh…just don't scream…shhhhh. Just breathe, nice and slow."
And Sam did…he gasped and groaned, thrashed and arched…but breathed.
Sam felt like a lost child, lying there; his hair wet from sweat, his eyes darting all over the place, not seeing much, his mouth opened in a gasp, his small hitches of breath reminding him of his childhood, when he cried into his pillow at night. He was sure that Dean got the same feeling. He always knew Dean heard him, but he never said anything about it.
"Sam, 's okay, you're okay, you're gonna be fine. Okay? Okay, just calm down."
Sam stopped writhing below Dean, stopped those horrible sobbing sounds and stilled. He could feel Dean's locket hitting the underside of his chin, and it was the most welcomed touch ever.
"Yeah, that's it…deep breaths, come on. Damn it, man, you scared the crap out of me."
Sam groaned and calmed down, settled his body flat down on the floor with a sigh: "Dean…"
Dean let go of his brother's shoulders and sat down on Sam's legs. "Sam, hey. You okay?!"
Sam looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes.
This is not happening, this is not real, the hotcold pain there did not just turn scorching hot AGAIN, right? Right?! Can't do this again, can't…
"Dean!" he screamed, making Dean lean down again, putting his palm over Sam's mouth and jump a little when Sam's hands clutched at his wrist and forearm.
Sam saw Dean roll off of him and look at the wound. The smell that was coming out of it, was strong enough to knock out a horse, and the smoke coming from the wound was white as clouds, lifting up from the wound; it almost looked like cigarette smoke, but whiter, milk white. It was mesmerizing in a way, magical.
Sam tried to scream, tried to writhe away from Dean's hand over his mouth, but Dean held strong. Even when Sam grasped his hand with both hands, and tried to yank it away, Dean held strong, decisive.
"Sam, hey, look at me. Hey, Sammy, look at me."
Sam did, chased Dean's look over the pain in his side.
"Good," it was soft, "look, the wound is healing, you can feel it, right?!"
Sam sure could feel it alright. It was like a million little ants with little sharp needles stitching up his wound from the inside out. It burned and it hurt and the needles were obviously dipped into some sort of an acid, because nothing should feel that way. He wanted to pass out, but the spell the witch cast on him was too powerful and it would only disappear when the wound would be healed completely.
Dean's palm was warm over his mouth and he welcomed the warmness that was different from the heat on his hip. Dean's eyes were green, buta different green than the witch's. They were warm, emerald green, familiar.
He wanted to call out for his brother, but the little army of ants in his side apparently trod a different thread, because the pain shifted from burning to freezing. He closed his eyes and breathed, shifted his legs, bent them by his knee and left them like that, because the pain shifted again into something almost tangible, something he felt he could grab hold ofand pull it out. He moved his left hand away from Dean's and went for it…he really wanted to pull out the pain, chase away the ants.
"Sam, whatcha doing there?" Sam ignored Dean's question and reached his hand down to grab the wound, digging his fingers into it.
"You stupid or something?" Dean asked and in the heat of the moment removed his hand from Sam's mouth, quickly snatched his brother's hand and pulled it away.
Dean locked his eyes with his brother's.
"The pain, the wound, I don't know."
Dean smirked. "That means it's healing, moron. You read the crap about it, you should know that. I mean, what the Hell happened?"
Sam sighed and closed his eyes, enjoying the subtle, lazy pain in his side now…he guessed that the ants had gone to rest. It was healing, but his head was pounding; big drums making a rhythm to deafen a deaf man.
"She caught me, I don't know, I don't care."
Sam looked up from the floor at Dean, the lines of worry on his brother's face disappearing into lines of 'whatever dude, just glad you're alive'.
"Okay," Dean sighed, "how you feeling?" Sam felt Dean lift his T-shirt from his hip, where it had fallen with all the struggle he had made, and check the wound.
"I don't know…fine I think."
He couldn't feel anything there anymore, but a really dull, slow throb that was nothing really. But that couldn't be said for the drums in his head.
Sam felt Dean touch the area where the wound was, and he sucked in air, his muscles constricting. He glanced down and saw that his skin was dirty; blood and the black liquid mixed together to make a very interesting color – ewwww. Lovely color.
Sam felt Dean's hand, all warm and strong, running over the area near his hip:"You're gonna be fine…the wound…'s gone."
Sam rose up and pulled himself over to the wall so that he could lean on it. He placed his own hand over the spot, where Dean had been just a second ago and felt nothing. No wound, no hotness, no coldness…just nothing. Just his skin and bone.
His jeans though were covered in the substance and his own blood and it smelled like somethinghad died in there. He scrunched up his nose and looked at Dean.
"You smell dude." was all that Dean said before he broke into laughter.
"Yeah, well…tough." Sam placed his head on the wall, closed his eyes in relief and breathed.
"Witches, man. Hate them." Dean huffed, when he pulled himself up to sit next to Sam.
A/N: Told you, totally straight up&uncomplicated h/c. :)